Reflections
by Rhivanna
Summary: The optimism was only the outer shell. Oneshots all from the Ninth Doctor's perspective at varying points in time. Won't rule out the possibility of an AU down the road, but for now all semi-canonical.
1. Sound of Silence

The Sound of Silence

Disclaimer: which in its very presence on this page should tell you something, and so I'm not going to rattle on about copyright laws. Find a different hobby, lawyers.

Author's note: Happens immediately after the destruction of Gallifrey

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The silence was deafening. For a moment he thought that it was the result of the sonic blast from the destruction of the planet – his ears were ringing with it and his teeth ached. As the shock from the explosion settled, though, and the universe stopped spinning, the real silence settled in around him. For the first time in his life, he was alone in his head. There were no presences – no trace of his parents, his wife, his children. No orders from High Command. No needling from his brother, not even the inconsequential hum of conversation from others which every Gallifreyan learned to tune out during their early years. There were no cries – the screams had stopped, and in their wake was an overwhelming, horrible lack of sound. It was ironic, he thought a bit hysterically as he pulled himself up off of the floor of the TARDIS. He had spent his life running from Gallifrey – running from who and what he was, running from the voices of his people, and now, now that he no longer needed to run….The voices were finally silent.


	2. Restraint

Restraint

Disclaimer: I don't own Dr. Who – just playing with some of the concepts involved makes my head hurt at times.

* * *

They didn't know who they were playing with.

It would have been only too easy for him to deal with Henry van Statten – child's play, in fact, given that the restraints weren't anywhere near up to the standards of the Daleks, and he had once escaped even from them. Somewhere in the wake of the Time War, though, he had sworn to himself not to kill unless he was forced to it, and so far it had not become a matter of life or death. He was in no real danger, and so it was better to appear weak, better to rein in his temper so as to avoid putting Rose in danger, and to give Van Statten time to realize his error. And he would realize it – the last Time Lord was more than certain of that, and if by some miracle he didn't…. The scanner beam moved over him again and he screamed as a wave of pain coursed through him. If Van Statten kept this up and the Dalek remained in its chains, then the pompous American was going to learn why the Doctor had been referred to as the Oncoming Storm, feared by Daleks and Time Lords alike.

The siren sounded as the alarm went out, and the Doctor looked up from the floor, ice blue eyes meeting Van Statten's. When he spoke, there was a veiled threat behind his words that even the billionaire, in all his foolishness, did not miss.

"Release me if you want to live."


	3. Genius

Genius

Anybody out there? *Crickets chirp... reviews remain conspicuously absent.* Guess not.

Author's Note: The Ninth Doctor's perspective on one of his more cynical days.

* * *

They thought he was a genius. He could see it in the way they looked at him, in the way they trusted him when he did something completely mad. It was, he thought cynically, rather like having a dog, which could look at its master with complete trust and even awe without knowing or caring about any of his flaws. And he had flaws – the Gods he no longer believed in knew he had flaws. He had been a genius once – before the Time War, before the endless years of fighting that had shattered his heart and soul and destroyed the Old Universe. He had been one of their prodigy children, a boy who had never been able to restrain himself within ordinary boundaries, the one who had learned to fly a TARDIS entirely on his own, which was supposed to be impossible. In those days he had had boundless energy and a naïveté which, in retrospect, had been both foolish and wonderful to behold. The General who had torn apart the fabric of time and space and destroyed his own people for the good of the universe bore little resemblance to that painfully naïve manchild. He had fought, he had killed – he, on his own initiative, had wiped entire races from the fabric of history to stop the Daleks, all for the greater good. The High Council had taken his gift for unpredictability and used it to maximum efficiency, and the result was no genius – only a grieving, burned out and hardened war veteran who was still running from what he had done.


End file.
